IT'S said that there's a first time for everything, and that experience comes by having a life filled with lots of ‘first times’.

That's probably true, and, if you're like me, it seems we can often recall our older ‘first times,’ far more readily than if they'd happened the day before yesterday.

For this week's TRM, I've been considering some ‘firsts’ that change your life forever, and so, here are just a few of the ‘first times’ that many of us shared…enjoyed…or, in some cases, painfully, endured!

For a start, when you're a kid, there are dollops of ‘firsts,’ particularly for avid readers of comics heroes and villains.

The disappointment of discovering, for the first time, that Superman, and Batman, are merely cartoon characters…and then realising that's why their powers are never utilised to support the USA in all their wars. President Trump, of course, may not have yet grasped this particular ‘first,’ which explains why every guy in America with the surname Kent, or Wayne, are among the first to be drafted!

It can be an even greater disappointment in the UK, when you first learn that, despite all the caricaturistic sketches in the papers, Boris Johnson is not a cartoon character, but is, in fact, a real person (this is thought to be true at the time of going to print, allegedly the BBC are currently running tests to ascertain if BJ is actually the first Earth Angel!)

Other childhood ‘firsts’ include the first time you manage to pedal more than 10 yards (for any younger readers, that's…9.144 metres) without the painful ignominy of toppling onto the hard…but (by now) familiar, blood-stained road.

Not only does that achievement give you a warm, inner glow of personal satisfaction, it also provides welcome relief to your long-suffering parents, whose patience has been wearing thinner than a washed out string vest, and who were beginning to fear that their bike tumbling offspring must be suffering from a form of skeletal imbalance, with bones on one side far outweighing the other!

The bike riding ‘first’ can also affect the local economic climate.

All the shops who'd been enjoying a roaring trade on sales of ‘ointments, bandages and sticking plasters,’ their cash tills ringing louder than a convoy of Rabaiotti ice cream vans on a day trip to the Sahara Desert, were hushed when little Johnny finally mastered his bike.

But at least one shop was happy…because little Johnny now demanded a bigger and better bike. Like this old snap of Foster Powells suggests.

As you get a bit older, past the pedalling stage, you're then faced with another tummy wrenching ‘first’...another milestone of mobility.

The elation you feel at the L plates cremation, can quickly be tempered by the sudden feeling of loneliness, and fear, when, for the first time, you're faced with taking sole control of the four-wheeled death-trap, that, during your learning period, has grown to hate you. For the first time, there is no-one sitting alongside you to offer reassuring guidance...or last-ditch, spontaneous instructions, such as…"Mind that old lady with the trolley"..."Left…I said LEFT, you stupid. ******," or "You do realise you're allowed to get out of second gear now and again...don't you?"

I suppose most ‘firsts’ fall into either the daunting, or awesome category.

The fear of the unknown, on the morning of your first job…knowing, deep down, it's not really what you want to do at all...

Hearing the organ play Here comes the bride, as you stand in the church, in your hired suit and polished shoes, praying your best man won't be sick over the vicar…

Moving out of the parental home for the first time, wondering if the rest of your life will be as happy as the first part.

The list of ‘firsts’ just goes on and on, and my advice is to make sure, no matter what they are, that you treat all your ‘firsts’ with the respect they deserve. Try to enjoy them all, because, as that wise old guru, Mick Jagger so astutely told us…"This could be the last time."

The second snap is to remind myself of my first stomping ground…Pill.

Now time for teasers, and last week's solution was 888+88+8+8+8 = 1000.

Try this one. A boy is walking down the road with a doctor. While the boy is the doctor's son, the doctor is not the boy's father. Who is the doctor?

Penultimately…this request from Cynthia Edwards…"Hi Jeff…I was in Sandy Hill chapel, reading the history, and it said one of the preachers moved to SHORT LANE, Milford Haven. Any idea where that was?"

Sorry, I don't…but if there's someone out there who can help Cynthia, please get in touch.

And finally, just a reminder that my new book...The Games People Play...in Milford, with all sales proceeds going to the wonderful Paul Sartori Hospice at Home charity, will be out soon. I'm hoping, with your help and support, we can raise as much as my previous books have managed.

That's it from me…next week we'll be back with another Trawler Corner and more from Doug Joyce.

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